Lavender In Provence
by ZivaDavid-LesNinja-FemmeLove
Summary: "So, why aren't you in Provence growing lavender?" Who knew this question would spark the abrupt leaving from NCIS of Ziva David but why did she leave so mysteriously? Who did she go with? Where did she run off to? Ziva begins to find a new happiness due to her new experiences but the question is, will this dream vacation last forever? Or will she come down from cloud nine?


Lavender In Provence 

By: Sammy 

When I woke up that morning, the sun was barely out but it shined perfectly within my room which was on the east side of the cottage. Sitting up in that bed, I realized that this was the very first morning in a brand new place. It was so foreign but so beautiful, majestic… irresistible. I tiredly ran my hands through my hair as I let a yawn slip past my lips. We had just gotten here yesterday afternoon and we had spent the entire time getting our belongings and everything else settled into the cozily small area we would be sharing for that time. Would it be forever? Quite possibly, yes. But I did not hope for it, dream for it, or even pray for it. I knew that it be more than a bit futile to do so.

I stood from the large bed, which was there before we essentially moved in, and went to the window. This window… I swear, it was like something out of my dreams. It was so castle-like, our cottage's architecture. Putting my hands on the brass colored knobs, I turned them before pulling open those magnificently crafted, white painted doors. As I did so I was ambushed by an onslaught of aromas. One specifically hit my olfactory membranes most intensely… lavender.

It was a scent I would never forget… and have smelled a thousand times. But had I ever been so close to the alluring plant… so close as to have it just yards away from me, growing in my own garden, correction; our own garden? No. Never. Not once. Not until this moment. I shut my eyes and inhaled deeper than I ever have in my entire life, savoring that fragrance as if this exact moment in time would be the last time I would ever get to perform the act. When my mocha eyes opened, I saw the eastern rising sun peeking out from behind the horizon, basking the lavender field with a perfect golden aura. That morning could not have been more beautiful if it tried. Or could it?

Turning around sharply, I looked back to the bed and saw it. A seemingly lifeless frame lied there in the large bed, their back facing the window. Still asleep, the body, which had been occupying part of the space in the bed, and their glorious lightly tanned skin, was also illuminated by the rising sun, more so as it came up even more. Yep, that morning just got much more beautiful. Sighing dreamily, I flashed back to the night before. We had finally gotten to spend some quality time together last night, which felt amazing… in so many ways.

Snapping out of my reverie, I turned my at the time barely existent focus back onto the lavender field. It was all ours. The cottage, the lavender, the field in which it grew, the few trees lining the property, the things in the little cottage… all of it was ours. It made my heart flutter just to know all of these precious and glorious things were ours to do with as we pleased. I stepped out onto the terrace which was built connected to the window area, adding to the royal atmosphere which the place would have had without it. As I did this, I got an idea.

I rushed down the set of stairs, still bare-foot, and stepped out onto the light brown colored sands which surrounded about ten feet of the cottage all around. Then, right after is the lavender. The lavender grew in rows with just enough space for petite figures to walk through each one which was what I did. I allowed my hands to outstretch completely, both out at my sides. As I walked I felt the tips of the tops of the lavender plants. What would we do with all of this lavender? Sell it in town to supplement our income? Perhaps we would… it would not be a terrible idea. Harvest it and make bouquets to keep around our cottage? Maybe... as nice as that would be, we would not really need it scattered around our cottage when the cottage itself is surrounded by it. So I suppose selling it, as opposed to the latter, would be the best choice. However, what we would eventually do with the plant was not really what was on my mind at the time. In fact, not much was even on my mind at that moment. I was happy, carefree. Now that that horrid Columbian operation was over with, I had no reason not to be.

I got to the end of the field of lavender and I looked out at our neighbors, which were perhaps a good ten to twenty miles away from us. This must be what paradise is like. We were alone in a somewhat secluded, yet superbly flawless region of what had to be one of my favorite countries to visit and stay… France. To be specific we were in the part of France in which is known for lavender, Provence. Everything here was so… without fault that I could not see anything wrong with staying here, until I die. Was that terrible of me to think? Was it so bad to think I would not want to leave, just live here… and die here? I suppose I had Tony to thank for this, yes? He is the one who brought it up after all. In Columbia of all places, too… he had questioned someone as to why they were not in Provence growing lavender. They implicated that they already were but in fact this was not true. However, the idea did spark intrigue and long lost desires… of multiple varieties.

A pair of arms so soft to the touch wrapped themselves around me, familiar arms; arms of whose touch I welcomed without any sort of hesitation. They were the skillful, loving, gentle, and marvelously sculpted arms of one retired Interpol liaison agent, Monique Lisson. Knowing that they could be of no one else, I let go of all old instincts which Mossad training and my father drilled into me and let out a content hum, leaning into touch. She pulled my frame into hers, the silk of our French nightgowns rubbing together.

"Bonjour." Monique murmured to me softly, speaking eloquent French with her naturally thick accent.

"Bonjour, chère." I replied, speaking the French I had learned so long ago.

"How are you this morning?" She asked me, pressing her lips into my neck for only a moment before resting her head on my shoulder.

"I am well. And yourself, Monique?"

"I am just fine. I was worried, I must admit." She told me, snuggling against me a bit more.

Now that we were not working together and being leisurely, Monique and I were free to relax the professionalism considerably. She held me for a bit longer before I was able to turn around in her arms, my hair still in my natural, yet at the same time messy, curls.

"Worried?" I ask, chuckling lightly because what could one worry about out here. "And what exactly was you worried about?"

"You," She replied honestly, brushing some of my hair from my face. "When I woke up, you were not beside me in our bed. I missed you terribly."

I smiled softly, touched by her words. I pushed myself up on my tip toes slightly, pressing my lips to hers.

"I am sorry I worried you." I susurrated; my voice was both soft and sultry all at the same time.

"It is alright now, Ziva. Let's get back to our home. I want to make you breakfast."

Hearing that accented voice speak those words made my heart flutter. I felt as though I might faint. She called the cottage our home. Not hers… not mine… ours; this cottage was our home. I smiled radiantly up to her as she caressed the sides of my face with both of her hands lovingly. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"I love you, Monique." I whispered to her just loud enough for her to hear it.

I listened as she hummed contently.

"I love you too, my most beautiful Ziva. I love you, too."

When we separated from the hug, Monique took hold of my hand and we casually walked our way back to the cottage, our home. Whether the residence would be permanent or temporary… this was still our home, no matter what. Once we were inside, the late spring air of France wafted into the home and it was delightful. I smiled as we walked from the door a short distance to the kitchen. I watched Monique fairly closely as she pulled over a stool and patted it firmly with her hand, signaling for me to sit down upon it. Doing as she directed, I kept watching her, more intently now. She rummaged through the fridge in search of something to make for breakfast. She seemed to perk up when she found eggs and the right type and amount of vegetables to make omelets. She turned to me, holding an egg carton.

"Eggs?" She spoke, asking me if that was what I wanted.

With shut eyes, I nod, giving her the okay. She smiled and began preparing the food. I began to feel bad just sitting here, watching Monique as she did all the work herself. It did not seem right to me, not one bit.

"Would you like some help, Monique?" I ask, tilting my head as I awaited an answer.

She turned to me, able to step away from the cooking eggs for a moment.

"No, chère… just sit there, and stay looking as beautiful as ever… that is how you can help." She told me, cupping my chin in her hand.

I pouted.

"That's not truly helping you." I refuted, my hands resting on my hips.

Monique laughed at my facial expression, my face having twisted into a look a defiant child would wear.

"Oh, baby… you are so precious." She said through her fits of laughter. "Please, my sweetness. Just sit… sit and relax. For me, do this for me."

Huffing, I rolled my eyes.

"Alright… but this is not helping!" I state adamantly, waving my index finger in the air in a somewhat triumphant manner.

She took hold of it in her hand and brought it to her succulent lips, kissing it before kissing my lips. Monique then returned to the cooking, leaving me to have my fingertips to my lips in disbelief and grandeur. When she finished cooking, she put the omelets each on their own plates before she looked at me.

"Where shall we be eating?" She asked, sounding happy.

We both we so much happier now that we were here. Mutually, Monique and I decided to dine in the living room, curled up next to each other on the small and yet somehow cozy couch. Within the den of our cottage there was a couch, a couple chairs, a table and a large shelving unit for our books and movies. However neither of us felt it prudent to have a television… but we each had our laptops and internet. We also kept our cell phones… but we never talked on them. Of course people would call, mostly my co-workers… but to be honest I felt as though I needed to give them, and my old life, a break. Start fresh along with my relatively new relationship with someone who I originally thought of like a mentor and sister… but now it was much more than that. I suppose it is true, hmm? You cannot control who it is you fall in love with, and in this case, for me, that was perfectly fine.

Later that day I found myself sitting in one of the den's small chairs, my knees pulled to my chest as I gazed longingly out the window. It was always so beautiful here, even on days like this when rain was pouring on our lavender. I smiled, gripping onto my legs as I watched the gentle rain fall. I had not noticed Monique walk in until she spoke.

"Tony is calling again." She announced, holding my cell phone in her hands.

I could only roll my eyes. He was becoming a nuisance and I was getting pretty tired of his bothersome and incessant calling.

"Let it go to voice mail." I told her, turning back to the rain.

She did so and looked at me. I could feel her eyes burrowing into me, studying me. I turned my head to the left to look back at her and a smile came to my face. She was so beautiful, a renaissance painting could not compare to her beauty and exquisiteness.

"My God!" I exclaimed dreamily.

She cocked her head to the side curiously, some of her perfectly wavy brunette hair moving with it.

"What is it, chère?" She asked me, enjoying getting to use French terms of endearment.

"You… you are magnificent. No! No! That's not even strong enough of a word." I told her, putting my legs down from the chair.

I watched her cheeks get a bit red as she blushed.

"Aw, Ziva." Monique swooned. "I am not that good."

My jaw practically dropped at the sound of such cockamamie words spewing from her mouth.

"That is so not true, Monique!" I said, getting up from my chair.

I sauntered seductively over to her, watching as a somewhat devilish smirk came to her face. I put a hand on either side of her slender waist and leaned up, placing a barely-there kiss on her lips. This left her begging for more; trying to kiss me deeper, but I would move my head back a bit. I would not allow her to do that. I moved my hand to hers and gripped it for a few seconds before slowly letting it go, our hands gliding together as I gradually walked towards the stairway. I could feel her turn to watch me as I slowly walked up the stairs, purposefully swaying my butt with each step I took. I heard her following me, no more than five to ten feet behind me.

I arrived at our bedroom door, leaning against it provocatively. I was seducing her, making intentional movements and motions in order to get her going, turn her on. It was working. A sly smirk plastered across her face as I pursed out my lips playfully. She pressed her frame into my own, taking hold of one of my hands before pinning my hand to the door with her own. I could feel the wondrous cherry wood with the skin of my hand. She put her face to my neck, her breath cascading across my flesh as I tilted myself into her.

"You are being quite a tease." She whispered fervently.

Just the sound and feeling of her words had been enough to get me turned on.

"Uh-huh." I replied in an equally ardent voice.

She let a purring sound pass her lips before she proceeded to caress my sides with her hands. Chills rushed through my spine in response. She was always so good at teasing me like this, taking control of me, and to be honest I did not mind it… not one bit. Reaching blindly as we kissed, Monique gripped the doorknob and opened the bedroom door before guiding me backwards. Once we were inside, she took control from there. I felt myself getting wet for Monique as we were making out. She pushed me back onto the bed, and I felt myself falling until I hit the mattress gently. She looked down at me, her hands gripping onto my belt assertively. Monique enjoyed being the alpha… teaching me a thing or two. My breathing increased as excitement rushed throughout my entire frame. This feeling… I loved it every time I experienced it… and I had only experienced it with her. With luck, and if God willed it, she would be the only one.


End file.
